Standing Scared
by Scullysfan
Summary: On the outside looking in at a world made just for two, a brave man learns to fear those whom he wishes to protect.


Title: Standing Scared  
Author: Scullysfan  
  
Rating: PG  
Classification: VA  
Spoilers: Sein und Zeit  
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property of   
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no   
copyright infringement is intended.   
Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. Anyone else, please   
ask first. Thanks. : )  
Summary: On the outside looking in at a world made just for two,   
a brave man learns to fear those whom he wishes to protect.  
  
  
Feedback: Any and all comments longed for at   
Scullysfan@aol.com.   
  
  
Dedication: For Kris -- partner-in-crime and sister. Never mind that   
pesky biology. g Happy early 21st, and don't come cryin' to me   
when you blow everything on the slots. ; )  
  
Author's notes and thanks following story.  
  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
  
Scully scares the hell out of me.   
  
That realization slams into my gut just as her pointed stare drills   
into my eyes. She's planted in the middle of the airplane's first   
class section, ignoring boarding passengers as they jostle   
briefcases and laptops, trying to stow away carry-ons and take   
their seats. The ticket stub in her hand directs her to seat 4C.   
  
Mulder is slumped against the window in seat 5A, the space next   
to him vacant and has my name on it.   
  
Yes, Scully, I see what you mean.  
  
I had moved to take my seat when Scully pinned me with a glare   
not unlike the one she wore after opening Mulder's apartment door   
this morning. Her fierce determination to protect him filled that   
doorway. I saw it written on her face -- no one was going to bring   
him more grief, not on her watch. But a little girl is missing. Two   
other people are grieving, and we have a job to do.   
  
Despite what she must believe, I'm not wholly insensitive to   
Mulder's loss. I pleaded with Billie LaPierre to speak with one of   
the agents already on-site and when she refused, I booked two   
first class seats, instead of the coach accomodations the   
Bureau's finance department prefers. At least Mulder wouldn't be   
crammed into a seat barely big enough for Scully or surrounded   
by quite as many strangers who had no idea he'd lost the last   
remaining member of his family.  
  
She deemed insignificant my attempt at good intentions with the   
set of her jaw and an icy order. "Well then you'd better book   
three." It left me wondering once again when the superior and   
subordinate roles had been switched and why no one had   
informed me.  
  
The look she's giving me now bears an uncanny resemblance to   
this morning's. The one that reduces me to a predator in her eyes.   
She's protecting Mulder from me, from the world, and I'll admit it   
hurts just a little to know she probably doesn't care how that   
makes me feel. I motion to my left in surrender.  
  
"Agent Scully, why don't you take the seat next to Agent Mulder   
and I'll be in --"  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
Cutting short my offer, she slips past me and into the wide,   
leather-covered chair and turns immediately to her partner.   
Dismissed, I take my place one row ahead and across the aisle.   
My seatmate acknowledges my presence with a grunted good   
morning and, without waiting for a reply, returns to stock prices   
scrolling along his laptop's screen.  
  
With the practiced nonchalance of a seasoned flyer, I ignore the   
flight attendant's safety lecture and watch Mulder and Scully out   
of the corner of my eye.   
  
Scully's rummaging in her bag, soon pulling out a small bottle of   
orange juice and a pill container. Unscrewing the juice lid, she   
offers the drink to Mulder. He accepts it with the shaky   
movements of a mechanical toy running on its batteries' last legs.   
Her offer of the pills -- sedatives, I would guess -- doesn't go over   
as well. He shakes his head. I can't hear him over the roar of the   
engines as the plane begins its taxi, but he makes a token protest.   
And that's all it is, a token protest. He can no more stand against   
her will than I could. She whispers to him. I know her voice is a   
whisper, that it's not the noise drowning her out, because it has   
always been this way. The two of them alone, turned inward,   
their wagons circled. Their words only for each other's ears.  
  
He swallows the pills and empties the juice in a few gulps before   
handing the bottle back to her.  
  
Tucking it into the seat pocket in front of her, she sinks back into   
the cushions, and her eyelids slip shut as the plane hurtles down   
the last few yards of runway and lifts off. Her head rocks gently   
from side to side with the shaking ascent of the jet. She looks  
tired, even more so than he does. If it was a hard night for him,   
what must it have been for her... bearing his pain and her own. A   
feminine Atlas.  
  
Yes, Scully scares me. Even when she's at her most tender, as   
she is now, shifting in her seat to tuck one leg under the other so   
that she's turned toward Mulder. His face is already lax in sleep,   
his head drooping in her direction, and I doubt he is aware of his   
hand cradled between hers. Neither must he feel the almost   
imperceptible movement of her thumb over the back of his hand.   
  
Her fingers join her thumb in tracing patterns up and down each of   
his fingers, over his wrist and back again.   
  
It's my mistake to assume she's unaware of her surroundings, or to   
think my mesmerized observation of them would go unnoticed, for I   
had ceased to watch them peripherally. With my neck craned in   
their direction, I no doubt resemble the family mutt peering   
pathetically through the screen door at the meal being eaten inside.  
  
This mutt tucks his tail and faces forward in his seat when the   
door slams in his face. Scully's sudden glance across the aisle   
morphs into a suspicious stare and startled, I leave them to the   
solitude she demands.  
  
I leaf through the case notes for Amber Lynn's disappearance until   
I can no longer concentrate. Stealing a look at my agents I find   
them just as I left them. The flight attendants are serving drinks   
and the expensive mixed nuts that go along with the expensive   
everything else in first class, but they move briskly past Mulder   
and Scully at the latter's sharp shake of her head and silent   
warning not to wake her partner.  
  
They're afraid of her, too.  
  
Settling back in my seat I consider my fear of Scully. Being   
truthful, I must acknowledge that fear and guilt walk hand-in-hand   
in my life, and that maybe I'm not as afraid of Scully as I am of   
myself.   
  
It frightens me that this agent, this woman, this tremendous human   
being who has suffered violations and losses no one should   
experience, has survived to be stronger and more uncompromising   
than I could hope to be. It frightens me that even in feeble   
attempts to right wrongs, I've failed more often than not. Most of   
all it frightens me to recall the times she has looked at me with   
doubt in her eyes, but also belief... belief that I have betrayed her,   
or worse in her eyes, him. This morning was just the latest such   
incident.  
  
It can't continue. I don't want to be this way, trapped between a   
fucking rock and a hard place, taking two steps toward salvation   
and then five steps toward Hell. Maybe that's my ultimate fear,   
that one day the dial on Krycek's little machine will turn just far   
enough to explode my heart, and Mulder and Scully will never   
know if I was traveling the road to good or evil when it happened.   
  
The rumble of the food cart moving down the aisle interrupts the   
long-time rumuniations I occasionally indulge. Feeling the need to   
take a piss before the requisite chicken, fish, or roast beef is   
served, I walk to the lavatory situated in front of this section of   
seats.   
  
Occupied. Shit.   
  
Turning to head back to my seat, I find the way blocked by flight   
attendents as they fill food and drink requests, so I settle against   
the outside of the lavatory to wait. Unexpectedly I notice it affords   
me an all-too-clear view of one of my agents in turmoil.   
  
From here I watch as Scully again declines service, this time of   
lunch, and turns to calm Mulder.   
  
It's a nightmare, I know. I remember. The tremors, cold sweats,   
my own voice drawing me from sleep with a shout or sometimes   
nothing more than a whisper.   
  
Mulder hasn't reached the shouting stage yet, though he's restless   
and the whimpers I can see, if not hear, are loud enough to attract   
the unwelcomed attention of passengers in front of them. Scully   
captures his face between her hands and smoothes her thumbs   
over his cheeks, shaking him a little until his eyes open. For the   
first time today a smile breaks across her face, but it's a tenuous   
one and it fades as his eyes slip shut again and his head bows.   
  
She talks to him in earnest, her hands never leaving his body, and   
I wonder if Mulder realizes his loss is not complete as long as he   
has this woman.   
  
Eyebrows raised and head tilted, she asks a question. His   
answer, a sigh and shake of his head, makes her shoulders   
slump, but only for a moment. She tries to move the armrest from   
between them, and I see her swear as she realizes it won't budge.   
Undeterred she lifts his right arm and brings it around her   
shoulders. A few graceful maneuvers later, and her back rests   
against his chest and the armrest, her head leaning on his   
shoulder as his chin rubs through her hair. Her left hand reaches   
across her stomach to hold his hand as it squeezes her arm, and   
together they rest.  
  
Scully might be a frightening woman, but she's also wise -- wise in   
the ways of a broken man. She's giving Mulder something to hold   
onto, while his world spins in maddening circles.   
  
Sharon knew these things, too. She gave herself to me as a   
talisman against horrors found in sleep, when mortar shells flew   
through dreams to explode in our bed, when sheets tangling   
around legs became the clutching hands of dying comrades in   
arms.   
  
The lavatory door opens and I exchange hellos with a young   
woman as she exits and I leave the tableau before me to take her   
place.   
  
The rest of the flight passes without incident. Mulder and Scully   
barely move, and I manage to get a few moments sleep, trying in   
vain to ward off the headache building between my eyes.   
  
Upon landing, I suggest they proceed to baggage claim where I   
will meet them after picking up our rental car documentation and   
keys at the Lariat counter. Twenty minutes and a few dozen forms   
later and I'm approaching Baggage Claim B when I spot them. It's   
not Scully's hair that draws my attention or Mulder's tall frame.   
It's that they're the only two people alone in a crowd.   
  
He sits on the metal edge of the baggage carousel, his knees   
apart to accomodate her standing between them. She rests one   
hand on his shoulder, the other holding her laptop and carry-on.   
Deep in huddled conversation, her body blocking his view, her back   
turned toward me, neither notices as I move quietly to stand   
behind the large, square support beam just a few feet behind her.   
  
"...is over, I think you should request some time off."   
  
"Scully, I don't -- "  
  
"Yes, Mulder, you do need it..."   
  
I tilt my head in her direction, straining to hear as her voice drops.  
  
"... I need it for you."  
  
They are silent for a moment and just as I begin to step from my   
hiding place, Mulder reminds me of my unstable position in their   
eyes.  
  
"Skinner'll never approve the time, Scully. It hasn't been that long   
since I was out for weeks after... after my... after you came back   
from Africa."  
  
Her voice is hard when she begins to speak again but it gives way   
to soft murmurs that I wish I knew. "He will approve it, Mulder,   
don't worry. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."  
  
My presence either goes unnoticed or ignored when I move from   
behind the post. Mulder is leaning forward, the top of his head   
resting against her stomach as her hand makes wide sweeps up   
and down his back.   
  
When this is over, she'll come to me. Just as she promised him,   
she'll come to take care of everything, her eyes blazing, daring me   
to deny her. I won't take that dare.   
  
Scully scares the hell out of me.  
  
  
  
THE END  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Author's notes and thanks: Glory be, I wrote a Skinner fic!   
Apparently friendship knows no limits. ;- ) I can't take credit for   
the story idea -- my best friend, Kris, asked for it for her birthday,   
and she was even nice enough to plot the thing for me, more or   
less. With that much done, kinda hard to say no. g So happy   
early birthday, Kris!   
  
Big thanks to fabulous beta-readers -- Jill, Jerry, Laney, and Lisa.   
Lisa, especially for instruction in the ways of first class. g   
Laney,for bouncing around Skinner ideas and sparking thoughts.   
Jerry, for helping to iron out wrinkly sentences and a little tutoring   
in Fic Logistics 101. And Jill, for saving me from calling this story   
"Skinner". Hello, my name is Shari, and I'm title-impaired.   
  
  
If you have thoughts on this story, I'd love to hear them at:   
Scullysfan@aol.com  
  
My other fanfic can be found at:   
http://members.aol.com/scullysfan/myfic.html  
  
  
  



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